With a Broken Wing
by Kirk Mathison
Summary: In 1990, Osmund Saddler traveled to rural Spain for an archaeological dig. There, he met a pretty boy, and crafted the dark future that Leon S. Kennedy would have to battle through 14 years later. Saddler/Original Male Character/Leon. M for slash.


"This is your stop, amigo."

Osmund Saddler snapped back into consciousness. "Hm?" He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember where exactly he was.

"I said this is your stop." The cab driver didn't look amused. His hand was outstretched, and his eyes were narrowed, and it was evident that he wanted this nutty American out of his car. "I go no further."

"Oh, of course," Saddler muttered. "Just a moment, let me get out and get my wallet."

He got out of the cab and started fishing through his bags, produced his wallet and had just started to pull out a few bills when he heard a high voice coming up behind him, winded and frantic.

"No, no! I got it!"

Saddler turned to see where the voice was coming from, finding that it'd been produced by a short, effeminate young man who was running towards them, waving his arms. The boy moved to the driver side window and had a quick discussion with the man, handing over some money and then waving as the man took off in the opposite direction. The boy turned to look at Saddler, and his smile was contagious.

"Hola!" he said, and his hands were on Saddler's face, pulling him down. He kissed his cheeks before releasing him, only to seize him around the middle for a hug. "Welcome home!"

"Thank you," Saddler said, smiling like a doofus at the boy. "You are...?"

"Oh! Hernan Mendoza." He held his hand out and gave Saddler a sloppy handshake. "Chief Mendez sent me down to meet you and pay for your cab! It must have been a long ride," he said. He picked up one of Saddler's bags and waved for him to follow.

"I slept through most of it," he said, lifting the rest of his luggage and following him.

They walked for what seemed like miles, and Hernan filled the air with chatter, continually glancing over his shoulder to make sure Saddler was still paying attention to him. Saddler would offer him a friendly smile and nod, but found himself completely lost in thought.

Osmund Saddler was an archaeologist, and all the traveling his chosen profession required of him had driven his wife mad. She couldn't stand being alone all the time, and had found another lover behind his back. Saddler lost everything in the following divorce—even any rights to his two children, Delilah and Noah, ages three and four respectively.

"...and it's just not fair to him. You know?"

Saddler swore. He knew there'd be a question eventually and he'd have to fudge an answer. Instead, he smiled politely. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Little Ramon Salazar's parents fighting all the time, when he's so sick. It's not fair."

"No, that doesn't sound fair at all," Saddler agreed. "How old is he?"

"Six," Hernan sighed. "Poor little thing. Sometimes his mother brings him down to play with some of the other kids in town--my younger brother Juan, and Mercedes, that's her--" He pointed. Saddler realized that they were finally in town--if you could call it that. It was no more than a few houses and a bell tower, a small section of the little village.

A little girl was running up to them, her dark chestnut hair bouncing as she ran. She stopped to peer at Saddler, but didn't say anything.

She stared.

Saddler stared back.

Hernan spoke up finally. "Say hello, Mercedes."

"Creo que no," the girl said, darting off.

They watched her go, and Hernan giggled. "She doesn't like strangers. Don't worry. She'll get used to you."

Hernan led him up a path to a decent sized farm, and Saddler could smell the cows as easily as he could hear them. "This is your family's farm?" he asked.

"Yep!" Hernan said. He called out to a boy that looked around his age, who was tending to a fenced-in tomato patch. "Hey, Diego!"

The boy looked up. He wore pants that were rolled up so they'd stay out of the mud, and his blue shirt had been removed and was now hanging from a belt loop. He was handsome and strong, his skin darkened from working in the sun. He had a good-humored smile on his face and he called back to Hernan.

"Buenos tardes, Hernan!" he called, waving. "Hola, Senor Saddler!"

"Hello there!" Saddler called back. He supposed everyone really did know that he was coming.

"Diego works for my father," Hernan said. "He does most of the work around the farm. I help out, sometimes," he said dully, leading him down one of the paths that went behind the barn.

They made their way down the path and through a tunnel, finally coming to a home much larger than the others Saddler had seen so far. "And this is your house?"

"Si," Hernan said, smiling a little bit. "It isn't quite as big as it looks. I have to share a bedroom with Juan. Papa had a cabin built for a farmhand, but Diego lives so close to home, he doesn't stay, so you'll stay in the cabin."

The cabin was dreadfully small. There was a bed crunched up in the corner, and a dresser that Saddler could put his clothes in. There was a desk and a hutch in the other room, and Saddler supposed it could be a lot worse. He smiled at Hernan and thanked him.

"Mama was worried it was too small," he admitted almost bashfully. "But Papa figures you'll be spending most of your time in the castle, since that's the whole reason you're here. I think he hopes you'll help out on the farm a little bit too, to be honest."

"You're not much of a worker, are you?" Saddler asked with a sly smile.

Hernan blushed. "No. Mama says I'm built for housework."

The young Spaniard started helping Saddler unpack his bags, neatly folding his clothes and organizing them. Tucked deep in one of the bags was a framed picture of two babies, both near Juan's age, give or take a year. He pulled it out and was just about to ask who they were when Saddler snatched the picture out his hands and shoved it into a drawer. "I don't want to talk about it," he said sharply. The startled look on Hernan's face made him feel a little guilty, so he softened his tone. "It's, um...it's a hard story for me to tell."

Hernan smiled and opened his mouth to tell him that it was all right when a high-pitched shriek of excitement filled the air. He groaned and a tiny boy who had to be Juan flew in the side door, his tiny bare feet kicking up dirt as he went.

He gabbled incoherently at Hernan and climbed up on the bed, jumping on it. Hernan snatched him up and put the boy on his hip before smiling apologetically at Saddler. "This is my brother," Hernan said.

The boy was gabbling again, and Saddler presumed it was Spanish, but the half the boy's hand was shoved into his mouth, so it was impossible to tell for sure.

Juan proved to be just as social as his brother, and even knew some English. Soon, he was the one chattering and singing, sitting up on the table as Hernan and Saddler went through all of the American's belongings, until there was nothing left to do. Maria, Hernan and Juan's mother, brought food out for the two of them and snagged Juan and took him back inside, calmly ignoring the strangled cries the boy let out.

"I'll take you to meet the village chief tomorrow," Hernan told him, lighting the candles when it started to get too dark to see. "And then we can go up to the castle. I'll have to bring Juan for that, he'll want to see Ramon."

Saddler nodded, and started to change his clothes. He paused only briefly when he thought he saw Hernan looking him over, but when the boy looked away, he continued, but a bit more cautiously, his heart hammering away so loud he could practically hear it. Had he really just seen that? He'd had his suspicions about Hernan at their first meeting, so maybe that was causing him to imagine things. He cleared his throat. "What do you know about the mines under the castle, Hernan?" he asked.

Hernan looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall. "Wait a moment," he said, and then left, heading for the house.

While he was gone, Saddler caught himself looking in the mirror to make sure he didn't look flushed or anything. When he heard footsteps coming back up the path toward the cabin, he turned around and sat down on the edge of his bed.

Hernan returned with a book and he sat next to Saddler, startling the older man. He'd expected the boy to pull up a chair, even sit on the floor, and then he would have invited him to sit close so that he could see the book. He didn't protest, but felt his face go hot again.

"I told Mama she should have Juan sleep with her and Papa tonight, since I'll be out late," he said. He opened the book and started leafing through. "Papa, Chief Mendez and the Salazar family are the only ones that have copies of this particular book," he said. "It's pretty much just an old history book chronicling the village and it's surrounding areas." He stopped on a particular page and held it out to him.

"Las Plagas," he read. "The Salazar family supposedly hid them away hundreds of years ago." He paused, as though he were trying to do the math in his head, but did not elaborate on the fact. "Ramon's grandfather wouldn't allow the excavation of the site—he believes that the little monsters will spring back to life and wreck havoc on the people.

Saddler nodded. This only confirmed what he'd been told by the university, but it seemed like Hernan had more information on the subject.

"Ramon's father, Raphael Salazar, seems to think it's all an old myth. That's why he opened up the dig site," he said. "And that's really all the book says on the subject. There's no detailing why they were hidden away to begin with, or if they even exist. Chief Mendez's younger brother Santiago has been researching it for years, though. Maybe he can tell you something tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll have to ask him," he said, staring at the drawn picture of Las Plagas in the book. He could tell how dangerously close to Hernan he was, but couldn't pull away. He saw it as an admission of weakness, that he was indeed unnerved by the boy's relative closeness.

Finally, Hernan closed the book, stood up and cleared his throat loudly. Saddler was pleased, for some reason, to see that the boy was as flustered by the situation as he was. Saddler looked up at him. "Leaving?"

"Well, I've told you what I can," he said.

"You told your mother you'd be out late," Saddler pointed out, then immediately wondered -why- he'd pointed it out.

Hernan set the book down on the nightstand and then sat back down, slowly. He eyed Saddler for a moment. "Who were the children in the picture?" he asked.

"My children," he said, sighing. "My wife left me, and took them. She wasn't fond of all the work I was doing, and said it didn't leave time for the family. So, she found someone else while I was in Thailand last year, and...well, the divorce just finished up a few months ago. That's why...I took on this project. It's extremely long-term, possibly lifelong. It'll keep me busy...and away from the States."

"I'm so sorry," Hernan whispered. He'd laid a hand on Saddler's knee comfortingly.

They sat in silence for a long time, and finally, Hernan decided it was time to go. He pulled on his ragged shoes and lit a second candle before wishing a quiet good night to Saddler, pecking him on his cheeks again. "Get some rest, Osmund. We've got a lot to do tomorrow."

He watched the boy disappear and head back into the main house. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and he set his glasses aside before laying down, pulling the thin blanket around him. He decided that he really did like it here, and willed his muddled mind to shut up and let him sleep. He was pleasantly surprised when it listened to him, and he slumped into unconsciousness.


End file.
